


Strange Gifts

by Lastactiontricia



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 09:36:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20337985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastactiontricia/pseuds/Lastactiontricia
Summary: AU Michael being a dick





	Strange Gifts

The press of Michael’s fingers against your forehead was cold, “I’m giving you a gift, really. Knowing how it all ends. There’s a sort of comfort in that, I think.” The world flashes out, tumbling into darkness.

There was blood on the snow, garish against that virgin white. The crunch of it under you was distracting, you’d lost the ability to feel the cold a while ago, but the sounds of being drug behind something was ruining the denial river you were coasting along. It had been a long road home for you and now you were gonna die here anyway. The man dragging you, if a man is what you’d call him, whistled a tune you couldn’t place. At least it had made your wrists go numb, and your back-where the snow was gathering around the open flaps of your clothes finally went silent as well.   
“Wanted to keep you long enough to breed you, but that Sasquatch on my ass really killed our vibe.”  
You were happy there was nothing left in your stomach to throw up. A sigh of relief still escaped, prompting your captor to drop your feet and peer at you. “You gonna miss this pretty face, baby?” The sob gritted out of you, grating against your raw throat. It was quiet, but he still heard it, face breaking open into a winning smile. “That’s my girl.”  
After an indeterminate amount of travel, he finally stops, the edge of night winking away, the overhang was particularly beautiful, small tufts of snow were dancing off the edge in the Colorado morning light. He whips out a silver knife, the one that failed to kill him and admires the gleam on the edge. “This was a present wasn’t it? From him? Fitting I think.” He straddles you and that intimate position makes you flinch but its just reactionary. This is the end, and god knows all you can feel is relief. You’d been dead for a long time already. The rip of the knife through your rib cage is wrenching, contorting your body even as you reach a bloody hand up to his face. He seems surprised at the gentle touch, leaving bloody streaks on his cheekbone, but at last looks go, you could do worse than fake Dean.   
The world goes dark with a sigh bubbling out. 

The harpy’s claws dug into your shoulders, making you realize too late that there were two of them. The first was on her way to being a pile of ash, but the second had swooped down on you before you could react. Her call of mourning for what had probably been her sister echoed through you. Any attempt to move your arms was impassable, if the pain alone wouldn’t stop you, the talons prevented you from moving your shoulder blades. Each lurch of her flight was agonizing. Your hair, now gray, broke loose from the bun you’d tied it up in and sweat freeze dried on your skin. The smell of charred flesh and feathers left you in the crisp air, and you registered a second of relief as the talons released. You hoped the fall killed you. Savoring the few seconds you had left, making it to social security age had been hard enough, you closed your eyes and felt a sort of peace. You realized- you’d never felt so light.   
The ground disagreed. 

The white eyes threw you off, hesitating long enough to give her the upper hand. It had been a long time since you’d seen a demon of that caliber. “Too old to bleed,” she deadpanned, the Kurdish knife through her hand merely an annoyance. “Although hunter is a vintage I’ve yet to sample.” The elaborate runes carved in your skin prevented her from throwing you around telekinetically, but she was doing a bang-up job with her hands. Pinned up against the wall, her good hand tightening around your throat, she licked the column of it before spitting. “Too bitter,” she grimaced. You tried coming down hard on her forearm with your elbow, all that produced was a raised eyebrow. “Pathetic little grasper, aren’t you? I can’t believe one of you ended my mother.”   
“Your mother?” you wheezed out.  
“I’m Jael, of Lilith, her first born. And I’ll make this world weep bloody tears for what it has done to me.”   
With that she snapped your neck, your eyes could still see her walk away as the dark crowded in. 

“None of your futures have Dean, don’t you think that’s telling?” Michael’s voice broke you out of the stupor you’d been in. The flashes of what could be haunting you.  
“Well none of them had you smiting me either, Ghost of Christmas Future.” You managed to cough out around your panic.   
Michael crouched down, “You’re not important enough to warrant a death by me. You’ll die alone, surrounded by monsters, no flames to carry you off into the hereafter. Unmourned. Forgotten.”  
“I’ll find a way Michael, one day I’ll come for you.”  
“Looking forward to it.”


End file.
